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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24785968">They Never Seem to Stay</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrycokeisnice/pseuds/cherrycokeisnice'>cherrycokeisnice</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>City of Rain [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:46:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>802</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24785968</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrycokeisnice/pseuds/cherrycokeisnice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On a rainy day in the City, Kobra and Ghoul meet in somewhat unpleasant circumstances.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fun Ghoul/Kobra Kid (Danger Days)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>City of Rain [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792723</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>They Never Seem to Stay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You’d think, what with the ideal of perfection at every corner, that it never rains in the City. After all, every aspect of natural life, from what time the sun rises to what temperature the smooth sidewalk will be that day, can be controlled by the weather department-it isn’t unreasonable to think that the rain, and all of the problems it causes, would be frowned upon by the city. But even the most inconvenient of weathers have their uses. Such is the philosophy of the Director.</p>
<p>Grant had, to put it bluntly, had enough. The walls around him had started to move, the black and the white blending together, the sharp edges becoming faded. This wasn’t, on the whole, something to be alarmed about, at least according to the health official in his district. After all, the standard medication for boys his age is meant to make things easier for him, make everything seem a little less threatening. Puberty is a tough time, after all, and a formative time. It’s important to get things right.</p>
<p>What bullshit.</p>
<p>He looked around, his eyes and ears searching, reaching for something, anything, to pierce through, to make everything go back into focus. He knew, in his heart, that he wasn’t gonna find anything, but he searched nonetheless. The hands of the clock were thick, the numbers spaced out in his med-induced haze. The lead of the pencil in front of him, sharpened to a point at 13:00 today like every other day, per regulations regarding the Presentation in Education committee, looked blunt, soft. He could bring it up to his fingertips, prick himself so he could hang on. But the red of the blood would stick out in this sea of black and white.</p>
<p>Move. He had to move. Hands. They were already moving, another pencil in hand. Oh, right, he was in geography class. Writing about Australia. It sunk, that’s what they all said. Something about the inversion of the weather, the climate was different there, on the opposite side of the world. Had to move some more. Stop writing, he had to stop writing. Stop. for god’s sake stop. Legs, had to move his legs. One two, one two, one two. Just like in marching practice. He was up, he had stood up. Was that his name being called? It was. Grant. Grant, that was him, he was Grant. Except he wasn’t. He was a Kobra Kid. He was the Kobra Kid.</p>
<p>Door, he was at the door to the classroom. Keep walking, down the corridor. Teacher, calling his name, walking after him. Speaking into a walkie talkie, code yellow code yellow, faded sunshine. Guards. White suits, batons at their waists. Guiding him back, or trying to. Where was he? He was running, oh, oh he was running, he was outside the school. The streets were wet, his clothes were wet. It was raining. </p>
<p>He had to keep running. He didn’t really have much choice in the matter. Even in his med-induced haze, he knew that getting caught would mean his world would take a turn for the worse, would change in a way that might be permanent. He was still running. And then he wasn’t.</p>
<p>Hitting the ground helped bring him back into reality. He hadn’t hit his head, but his back and his side had been affected, somewhat majorly. They were alternating between stinging and being all fuzzy. Where was he? Oh shit he was out on the streets. It was school hours. Oh shit oh shit, the guards were coming, they were coming after him. Scramble, he had to scramble. Grant got up, onto his knees, and tried to get to his feet. If he had been just a bit slower, he might have succeeded. </p>
<p>“Ah fuck!” The pain in Grant’s side put an end to any notion of him getting to his feet, and instead seemed to favour the cause of him falling back to the floor. The guards had an easy job of hauling him up, the pain cancelling out any notion of resistance.</p>
<p>“Please...please don’t, they’ll hurt me, they...they’ll really hurt me.” Nothing came in response, no words from the sombre faced men in the white suits. They didn’t need to say much anyway. The white vain hurtling around the corner, sirens blaring, said all that needed to be said.</p>
<p>They practically threw him into the back of that van. Grant landed with a grunt of pain, his hands going to his side. About ten seconds later, after the back doors had been shut, and the guards got into the front of the van, the doors efficiently shut, not slammed, they started moving. The blank white of the van’s interior, solid and rolling, lulled Grant into unconsciousness. The pain contributed to that as well.</p>
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